He decided to read some more.
He buttered toast while he read a postcard propped up against his kettle, and a poem on his bathroom sink while he cleaned his teeth. If letters were distasteful or didn’t make sense they went onto his recycling pile.
He put a sizable stack of letters aside for Poppy’s school project. And, as the stack grew taller, he imagined Poppy and Liza sitting side by side, reading them together.
The thought of that not happening again made his heart heavy with regret.
He tried to banish these thoughts for now because he had many more envelopes to open.
His task carried on for hours, into the midafternoon. Mitchell drank numerous cups of tea and placed more letters on top of Damon’s letter. They were ones he wanted to reply to.
As he studied them, a strange feeling crept up on him, an awareness that he was willing to read and respond to letters from strangers. However, Anita’s lilac envelope remained still unopened in his nightstand drawer.
He stood up and left the pool of correspondence behind. He walked to his bedroom and took her letter from its resting place. As he held it to his nose, his breath quickened. The hint of her violet scent was almost gone and he inhaled more deeply, desperate to smell it again.
He sat down heavily on his bed and tried to imagine her writing it.
Had she sat at their kitchen table, furious with him? Or had she written it from the Italian restaurant? Had tears streamed down her face, or was her back stiff and proud?
He’d always assumed her words would seal the end of their relationship, cementing his guilt and shame.
But do I know that for sure?
There was only one way to find out.
He traced his fingers around the perimeter of the envelope, the corners now worn from his constant handling.
For a moment, he sensed Anita’s fingertips running down his back, assuring him it was okay to open it. The sensation was so real, he shivered and looked around him. His window blind rippled from a breeze that swept in and he heard bird wings flapping on the roof.
A sign?
Whatever it was, he knew it was finally time to open and read her letter.
29
AN UNLOCKED HEART
Mitchell’s fingers felt huge as he tried to peel back the gummed flap of the envelope and he failed several times. He stood up and paced across his bedroom, trying to muster up his courage.
Finally, he stood with his back against the wall, wedged between his bed and nightstand. He pressed his outer thighs against them, needing the support.
After slipping his finger into a small gap at the top of the flap, he eased the paper apart. With shaking hands, he slid the letter slowly out of its envelope, its prison for three years.
Then he held his breath and read the last words Anita ever wrote to him.
Dearest Mitchell,
I want to hate you, but I can’t. I’m going to go for lunch, our lunch, with my friend Jane instead. We are going to drink champagne and eat strawberries and laugh with the waiters, because I suppose I want you to be jealous even if you’re not here to witness it. I’m going to try to be positive in this letter. However, I’m not sure how much longer I can manage it.
The last few months have been hard for us both, you especially, because you’re the one who’s spending so much time away from Poppy. I know you’re working hard to help us have a better life, and I am, too. I just wish you didn’t have to do so much. I was really looking forward to dining together, but there will be other times, I hope.
We’re supposed to be a family, Mitchell, but a lot of the time it feels like we aren’t. When I look at you, I want to see the man I fell in love with. I want us to drink cider in a beer garden together. I want to see Poppy’s seashell eyelids when we both hold her for the first time. I want to share tiramisu with you. Above anything else, I want Poppy to be happy. I want you to be happy.
Love always,
Anita xxx
Mitchell slid down against the wall in a heap. He grinned and cried at the same time.
After Anita died, he’d convinced himself that she despised him, that he’d failed her. But her words told him differently. Among them, there was hope. She’d still been willing to fight for their relationship. It could have been good again.
When he held her letter to his chest, he felt her words against his skin and tendons loosened inside him. He bowed his head and thought about her curls and her laughter.
If she was here, they would still be together. And now, although she was gone, he knew she’d want him to be happy and hopeful.
And he could strive for that.
It could provide part of the framework he needed to move on. Perhaps he could try harder and feel better.
When he was ready, he stood up and placed the letter and envelope under his pillow.
He knew what she’d want him to do.
* * *
Poppy’s mouth dropped as she surveyed the strange scene in the sitting room—Mitchell sitting on the floor surrounded by piles of letters everywhere.
“Um, like, wow,” she said.
“A fresh delivery from Susan.” Mitchell shrugged.
She wandered over and stared at them. “There’s hundreds here.”
“Yep, and I’m going to read them all.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He smiled and held out his arm, inviting her to sit down beside him. “I think your mum wants me to do this.”
She sank down cross-legged onto the floor. “Why?”
“I think she’d want me to read people’s stories and help, if I can.”
She nodded in agreement. “Have you been off work today?”
Mitchell explained how Russ had told him to take seven days away from his job. With embarrassment, he wiped away a rogue tear that escaped from his eye.
“Are you crying, Dad?”
He blinked up at the ceiling. “No.”
She eyed him then ran a hand across the letters, shifting them under her touch. “I’ve got something to make you feel better.”
“A miniature chocolate?” He found a smile.
“No. Stay here.”
When Poppy returned with her hollowed-out dictionary, Mitchell looked at it warily. He didn’t want to revisit his sparse writing-home efforts.
But she took out a letter and handed it to him.
Mitchell reluctantly unfolded the piece of paper.
Dearest Anita and Poppy,
The sun is out in the city this weekend and everyone is having fun, all except me. I miss you both so much when I’m away. At first the apartment felt like an adventure, but the longer I’m here, the farther away the both of you feel. Poppy, I miss your hugs in the morning and even seeing your unicorn T-shirt looking through the washing machine door at me. Anita—I miss your smile, and eating breakfast with you and, well, everything.